The Phantom's Opera
by Kookalaka
Summary: A PotO (Phantom of the Opera) fanfic. What happened with the Opera, the Phantom, Raoul and Christine 5 years later...
1. Wandering Child

  
**Disclaimer: I don't own "The Phantom of the Opera", The Phantom, Christine, Mame Giry, Raoul, or any of the known characters, lyrics and indicia related to the play, musical and/or movie(s). This story, however, along with its main character (Luc Reyer) belongs to me, so please no unauthorised copying.  
**_P.S. Please note that some French phrases are used in this text._

* * *

A mystery, they called it. A mystery, the papers said. Famous soprano fled from the opera house one night, rumoured with the new patron whom, also rumoured, she had an affair with. It was a strange affair indeed, but the seats sold like mad on the gala night; an extra ticket was always wanted. The managers of the opera rubbed their hands together as the money piled up on their desks. An opera ghost? They had long forgotten about the silly obsession of the cast and other opera staff with the infamous O.G.

Monsieurs Andre and Firmin had left the Opera Populaire after the scandalous chandelier crash on the premiere of "Il Muto" happened: the opera house was now run by a wealthy company, well-known in Paris, but not interested in culture as much as in money. Madame Giry still lead the ballet with her strict hand, and Carlotta still sang all the female leading roles, although age was starting to get the best of her and she was loosing her voice more often.

The affair of the Opera Ghost, Christine Daaé and the Vicomte de Chagny was still retold among the young chorus girls and the ballet ensemble; at least, until Madame Giry hobbled after them on her walking stick (on which she leaned frequently), shouting not to waste their time on useless legends and gossip. She would never retell the story of the Opera Ghost to them, and she and her daughter Meg kept the secret of the Phantom's lair in the basements of the opera house to themselves. There was no need for that, however: the mirror in the dressing room was bricked up, along with all the entrances to the basements where the Phantom's lair once was. Nothing of the sort happened again in the Opera Populaire; nobody heard of the Phantom ever again.

Monsieur Reyer, the old conductor, had died some years ago, and was replaced by Luc Reyer, his grandson. Luc was barely in his twenties, but still his conducting abilities stood shoulder to shoulder with his grandfather's when old Reyer was in his prime years. Today he was debating with Madame Giry over Carlotta, who had lost her voice yet again and could talk only in a coarse whisper.

"Mame Giry," Luc said to her in a whisper, following her through the dormitory of the opera house one early morning as she tapped the beds with her cane to wake the ballet dancers for an early-morning rehearsal, "this can't go on! Carlotta has to be replaced! The premiere of "Orpheus" is tomorrow night, and we have nobody to sing the role of Euridice!"

"Well," Madame replied as the tousle-haired ballet girls sat up in their beds, yawning, "we can't find another Christine Daaé, Monsieur. One of the chorus girls could sing Euridice, and they would be good, but not good enough for the opening night of the new season."

Luc sighed. He hoped the old ballet teacher had a trick up her sleeve and could magically conjure a soprano for him, but it was once again proved that she was just a human being.

"Then I guess I will have to pick one of the chorus girls," he said.

"Carlotta won't be pleased," Madame Giry commented.

"No, she won't, but I am afraid I can't do anything about it. Our prima donna will have to be replaced. Au revoir, Madame," he said and left the dormitories.

Although he'd worked in the Opera Populaire for nearly a year, Luc still found that he got lost in its corridors and stairwells, which happened now. He wound down a stone staircase and ended up in a small circular room. Its walls were decorated with frescoes of angels, and a large stained-glass window portraying the Archangel Michael let in the sunlight. He recognised this place - his grandfather had told him much about it, although Luc had never been there himself: it was the old chapel, now deserted apart from an occasional superstitious staff member who would come to pray here now and then. There was a rusty iron candle holder beside the large fresco of an angel with an androgynous face and a kind, compassionate smile. Luc would have left the chapel immediately, knowing it was corridors away from the stage, where he was heading, were it not for something which caught his eye. One of the candles which was burning suddenly blew out, like a strong wind passed across it. However, the window was closed, and the wind seemed to come out of nowhere. Luc heard the rustle of a cloak, and another candle blew out. There were only two remaining.

"Who's there?" He turned around, but could see and hear nothing more: just darkness. He thought he must have imagined it: it was probably someone walking in the hall above, when all the handles were blown out and he found himself in total darkness, apart from the feeble light sprinkling from the window. Luc's skin crawled. Ever since he was a child, he was terribly afraid of the dark: a candle burned in his bedroom all through the night even now.

And then, he heard a voice. Just a whisper, yet every word was clear. It whispered a song, so distinct that the person who sang it seemed to be standing behind him, whispering into his ear: "Wandering child, " it sang, "so lost, so helpless; yearning for my guidance... " A man's voice. Luc gasped and jumped away from the source of the sound, crashing with the candle holder and knocking it to the ground with an echoing clang. The voice softly laughed as Luc crept along the wall, his back against it, his hand groping for the emptiness that he knew was the stairwell which lead upwards, towards the light. Cold sweat trickled down his back as his eyes struggled to see something in the pitch-black darkness, and the childhood fears floated up to the surface of his consciousness. "Learn to find your way in darkness, lost child! Too long you've wandered in the light!" the voice said.

"Who are you?" Luc yelled, trying to keep his voice steady. The stairwell was still out of his reach and the wall seemed to go forever on. "What do you want with me?" There was silence. Luc's fingers snaked, slowly, slipping with sweat, across the wall, even quicker than before, until finally they hit thin air. The stairway! He turned to run up, but tripped over something and fell on his back.

The back of his head hit the stone step and he was momentarily dizzy as everything swam out of focus. There was a whirl of a cloak, and he felt two strong arms pick him up. He couldn't move because his head was swimming, and he felt that if he moved it, he would surely vomit. The man carried him through darkness, down stairwells, walls closed behind them, rats scurried for the flame of the torch the man was carrying, and Luc though he heard the murmur of water, but then he forgot everything and lost consciousness.


	2. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

  
_"The Opera Populaire, after the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, was burned down almost to the ground, leaving only a part of the ground floor and its basements intact. The ensemble despaired, having no opera house to return to, and cursed the madman claiming to be the Phantom who burned their home. As time passed, and the ensemble had lost hope of ever returning to the Opera Populaire and got different jobs, managing somehow to push through life, an anonymous patron sent a cheque to a large amount of money to Madame Giry - more money, in fact, than she had seen in her life or ever dreamed of having._

_Along with the cheque, there was a note: Madame was to gather up the old ensemble of the Opera Populaire, hire France's best architects and designers to work on the new opera house. The note was simply signed with: "A friend". A laborious two and a half years passed, and the Opera Populaire opened its doors to the public once again with a glorious performance of Verdi's "Traviata". The Opera, through time, regained its former glory and was once again the most visited opera house in all Paris. A new conductor, Luc Reyer, joined the ensemble, and proved that the apple did not fall far from the tree, for he was as good as his grandfather had once been, if not better. . ." _

* * *

When Luc woke up again, he felt he was lying on something soft. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a magnificent, swan-shaped bed with velvet sheets the colour of blood. A delicate curtain of black lace hung around the bed, so he couldn't see where he was. It wasn't so dark anymore: candelabras were placed around the bed and illuminated it. He saw that someone had removed his suit, leaving him only in his shirt. And then he remembered: the chapel... darkness... and then a voice... a voice...

Like on cue, the lace curtain around the bed rose, apparently without any help of human hands. Luc rose from the bed, seeing a doorway. Light poured from many candles as he passed through it.

He was in some kind of an underground cave. There was a vast glassy lake on his left side, closed from the rest of the canals with iron bars. On the lake a small boat was moored. The cave was filled with candelabras and burning candles: two candelabras even stood in the lake. Around the lake stood props from older plays like velvet curtain, busts and statuettes, covered mirrors, and an organ leaning against a stone wall, surrounded by note papers, discarded quills and ink bottles. And at the organ, there sat a man. He had his back to him, but Luc could see that he had sleek black hair and was probably some ten to fifteen years older than him. The man appeared to be scribbling  
something on the paper, perhaps writing a letter, or composing, Luc couldn't tell: every now and then, the man would hit a note on the organ, making the pipes vibrate with music. Slowly, Luc walked towards the man. And then, the man spoke:

"I am glad you're awake, Monsieur Reyer." Luc recognised it at the same voice which sang in the chapel, and wondered where had this man taken him. "Do not take another step," the man warned, "or you shall feel very sorry about it." Luc caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a mirror above the organ: the man was watching him from there, but he couldn't see his face.

"Why have you brought me here?" Luc demanded. "What do you want with me? Who are you?"

"Welcome to the prison of my mind, Monsieur Reyer," the man said. "Has your grandfather not told you about the monster who dwells under the opera? Of the dark shadow who haunted everyone's minds and stole their precious prima donna from them, teaching her to be the most beautiful voice which ever walked out of Heaven...?" His voice became a whisper, and then silence. Luc was about to say that his grandfather stopped believing in that story long ago, when the pieces of the puzzle snapped together in his mind.

"You're... the angel of music?" The man laughed bitterly and loudly, and the echo multiplied his laugh, so it seemed a thousand men were laughing along with him all around Luc.

"The angel of music!" the man said. "Christine Daaé was the last one who ever _dared _to call me that!" he yelled, and then started singing under his breath, calling her name: "_Christine, Christine... Christine... _" Luc felt sorry for the man, who seemed to still love Christine Daaé, and instinctively took a step forwards. He was still looking at the mirror, trying to look at the Phantom's face. Once he took the step forward, he could see it.

The left half of the Phantom's face was covered with a white mask reaching down to his lips. He was looking down at his notes, but seemed not to really see them. Abruptly, he raised his head and saw Luc in the mirror, looking at him. The Phantom stood up, furiously, knocking the stool he sat on to the ground. He stormed towards him, and was almost neck to neck with him before Luc could realize what happened.

"I told you not to take another step, Monsieur!" he yelled at Luc and grabbed his shirt, pulling Luc towards him. "I said you would regret it!" he growled, his nose inches away from Luc's. His cold green eyes stared into the young conductor's. And then, the Phantom let him go. He removed his grip on Luc's shirt and turned away from him. He picked up Luc's jacket which was lying nearby and tossed it to him.

"You must return," he said. "The fools who run my theatre will be missing you." The Phantom, his back still turned to Luc, pointed to a mirror shrouded with a curtain. "Behind the mirror is a passageway which will lead you to an alley behind the opera house." Luc opened his mouth to say something, but the Phantom growled: "_GO! _Before I change my mind!"

As the young conductor opened the mirror and disappeared behind it, the Phantom of the Opera sat on a chair and buried his face in his hands. Under his breath, he sang:

"_... Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster... _Christine..."

* * *

Luc emerged in the alleyway, like the Phantom said. He was momentarily blinded by the sunlight as he heard a rustle behind him. He turned, and saw that the passage had closed, and it wasn't possible to decipher the secret door from the rest of the wall. He turned a corner, and appeared in front of the Opera Populaire. He climbed the stone steps, pushed open the door, and bumped into someone small.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur," she said, "I didn't see where I was going..." It was Meg Giry, Madame Giry's daughter, her delicate figure wrapped into a dark coat over her ballet dress.

"Miss Giry!" Luc exclaimed. Meg looked up at him and her eyes widened.

"Monsieur Reyer!" she said. "Maman sent me to look for you: where have you been?" She sidestepped out of his way, and he entered the grand hall of the opera. "You face is white, Monsieur," Meg said in a concerned voice, "What has happened?" Luc took her by the hand, grateful for her concern, but his expression still remained despondent.

"You will learn in time, Mademoiselle," he said. "But now I need to speak to your mother. Where is Mame Giry?"

"Here I am, Monsieur." Madame Giry was standing at the top of the staircase, leaning on her cane like a queen in her kingdom of ballet dancers, props, angelic voices and fake smiles. "Have you anything to say to me?" She looked stern, like a mother scolding her scamp child.

"Yes," Luc replied. "He's there... the Phantom of the Opera." Madame Giry went pale.

"Not so loud, Monsieur!" she warned. "Come with me." She turned to her daughter. "Meg, get back to your practising."

"No! I want to stay!" Meg protested.

"_No! _" Madame Giry snapped. Meg left, and Madame Giry led Luc through the opera, and closed the door behind them when they were in a room used for storing old props needed only for plays performed infrequently.

"Now, Monsieur," said Madame Giry, lighting some candles and looking sternly at Luc, "what did you want to say to me about the Phantom?"

"He's still there, Mame Giry," Luc said, "under the opera! I've been there, to his realm! I saw him!" Madame shook her head.

"You must have been dreaming, Monsieur." She regarded his pale face. "The Phantom of the Opera died five years ago in the fire, and his lair was destroyed. Didn't you read the papers?" She blew out the candle and walked towards the door. "Men do not return from the dead, Monsieur."

"Madame...!" Luc tried, as she turned away and opened the door to leave. "You know I'm telling the truth! Why do you refuse to accept it?"

"Some things, Monsieur, are better to be kept in the past." Madame Giry turned around and looked at him. "Forget what you saw: the Phantom of the Opera is no more."


	3. Notes

Luc himself started to believe that everything about the Phantom was indeed a dream: it seemed too bizarre to be real. And just like Madame Giry said, men don't return from the dead. Just as he was leaving the opera house, rummaging in his jacket pockets for change to pay the carriage which was going to drive him home, his fingers felt something that he knew wasn't there before. He took it out, and saw that it was an envelope lined with black, sealed with a skull-shaped seal. On the back the letters "c/o Mnsr. Luc Reyer" were written in elegant, swirly letters.

"Will you be getting in, Monsieur?" the driver asked him, but Luc had already turned around and marched up the steps of the opera house. The driver muttered something rude about wool-gathering customers, and cracked his whip at the horses.

Meanwhile, Luc had broken the seal and read the letter. He made his way through the now dark corridors of the opera house, carrying a candle-stick in his hand which illuminated his surroundings. Finally, he came to the door he was looking for. Out of his pocket, he took out the set of keys to all the doors in the Opera Populaire which he always carried with him, picked the right one and unlocked the door.

He remembered how Madame Giry strictly forbid anyone from the ensemble to enter this dressing room. The old dressing room was covered in dust, and his reflection in the large mirror which stood directly opposite the door seemed to be looking at him from a thick layer of mist. This was Christine Daaé's old dressing room, and that was the mirror the Phantom used to tutor her and speak to her as the mysterious "angel of music". Luc approached the mirror and ran his hand across it to wipe away the dust. And then, on the other side of the mirror, _another hand followed his _.

Luc quickly pulled away his hand from the mirror, as if it was burned. The Phantom's face stared down at him from the other side.

"Am I that revolting to you, Monsieur?" the Phantom said.

"I--" Luc began.

"You don't have to apologise," the Phantom said, "I know what you think of me. All I ever did was out of love. But you still think I am a monster. Maybe you are right!" The Phantom's silhouette retreated into darkness, and all Luc could see now was the faint outline of his mask. "I can help you with your predicament, Monsieur. If my orders are obeyed."

"What do you want from me?" Luc asked.

"I want, Monsieur, for you to bring me Christine Daaé," the Phantom hissed.

"She is now Christine de Chagny," Luc said with resignation. The Phantom spoke again, his voice shaking with anger.

"That doesn't matter. You will call Christine to sing the role of Euridice on the gala night, and she will come. If she comes with the Vicomte, yet the better." The Phantom slammed his fist on the glass, and Luc jumped backwards. "The music of the night will continue, Monsieur Reyer!" he growled, and vanished, leaving Luc standing alone in the dark room, the only thing keeping him company his own reflection in the mirror.

Luc felt as darkness extended its cold fingers towards him, creeping up all around him, and icy dread filled his thoughts as the empty room creaked in the darkness. As quick as he could, he went to the door, opened it, went out, shut it behind him, and hastily locked it. Resting his back on the wall, he let the warm yellow light of the corridor overflow his senses, as colour slowly returned to his cheeks.

Then he heard footsteps, delicate, soft and barely audible on the thick and dusty carpets. He regained his composure, ready if it was the Phantom again. Whoever it was, the person was carrying a candle, making their shadow erratically bob across the walls as the flame flickered. Luc hid behind a column in the hallway, prepared to jump at the person as they came level with him, and watched as, on the wall opposite, the candlelight came ever closer. Luc held his breath as the person paused just a few steps away from him. There... only a moment now...

Just as the person was about to come level with him, Luc jumped out of his hiding place, grabbed the person by the wrists to stop them from trying to hit him, and pinned them to the wall. The person dropped the candle and screamed. And then, they recognised each other.

"Miss Giry?" Luc said, surprised, and let go of her, embarrassed.

"Luc--" Meg realized her mistake, and corrected it, "I mean, Monsieur Reyer? What... I thought everyone has gone home?" She gave him the kind of scornful look so like her mother's that Luc almost laughed, for it didn't suit little Meg at all. "It's past midnight, Monsieur. What are you doing, wandering through the opera alone?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Luc said. Meg blushed.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," they said at the same time.

"Maybe I would," Luc said, smiling, feeling the ominous presence of the Phantom melt away from his thoughts.

"Well, Monsieur," Meg said, searching her dress - Luc saw that she was dressed only in a wispy white nightgown, "tonight I found this under my bed sheets." She gave to him an envelope lined with black, sealed with a skull-shaped seal, just like the one he found in his jacket. He opened the envelope and read the note:

_"Dear Mademoiselle Giry,_

_a note of praise: I have been acquainted with your singing talent, and wish to hear your further vocal abilities. I will be waiting for you in Christine Daaé's old dressing room east of the stage, ten minutes after midnight tonight. I would be delighted if you could bless me with your presence again._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G." _

Luc looked up at Meg, and took out his own letter.

"It was this which made me come here," he said to her. "I found it in my jacket just after leaving the opera."

His note read:

_"Dear Reyer,_

_I have come to see that your ability in picking divas doesn't match your conducting. Carlotta cannot sing for her life, which was proved on the latest edition of "The Magic Flute". I am willing to offer you a new soprano, far better than anyone you've heard. Then Señora Giudicelli can get back to yodelling in taverns, the only place which still welcomes the croaking you call singing. If you are interested, I will be waiting for you in Christine Daaé's old dressing room east of the stage at midnight tonight._

_Sincerely,_

_O.G." _

"What did he want?" Meg asked.

"He wants Christine to sing as Euridice tomorrow..."

"_Mon Dieu! _" Meg exclaimed. "Monsieur, you can't let him have his way! He will take Christine with him... and we will never see her again!"

"I know, but what can I do?" Luc said. "Carlotta lost her voice, and I have no leading soprano for the opera!" And then, the thought hit him. He couldn't realize how he hadn't seen it before. He was so happy he took Meg's hand and kissed it.

"Meg!" he said, "I have been blind!" She looked at him, not understanding. "You will sing Euridice! You have a wonderful voice: I'm sure you will sing it heavenly!" Meg didn't seem half as pleased as he did. In fact, she was pale.

"But, Monsieur... what about the Phantom?" she asked.

"The Phantom is a shell of what he once was, Meg," Luc said, frowning. "He cannot threaten us. I will not allow him to destroy the opera." His frown turned into a fatigued smile. "Now, come; enough of these dark thoughts. Let me escort you back to your room." He took the candle-stick from her hand and they disappeared around a corner.

Behind a pillar, there was the rustle of a cape. The Phantom's masked face looked after the departing glow of the candle, his eyes blazing with anger.

"_Who scorn his words, beware to those, _" he sang in a whisper, "_the angel sees, the angel knows! _"


	4. Thinking Of You

Deep down, below the Opera Populaire, the Phantom finished writing a letter. He folded it, placed it carefully in an envelope, and dripped some red wax on it. Just before the wax cooled off, he took a seal - not his usual, skull-shaped one, but a new one he recently plundered right under the nose of the Opera's manager - and pressed it into the wax. He turned over the letter and wrote the address. Then he stood up, and went to a curtain. He pulled it aside to reveal a tall, smashed mirror. He pushed a switch beside the mirror and it swung open. He took the pitch-black passageway. After a few left turns and some ascending staircases, he came to a wall. There was a small slit in that wall, from which a paper thin ray of sunlight fell on the mucky floor of the tunnel. He slipped the letter through the slit, and it fell on the desk in the room beyond. 

The Phantom turned away, and made his way to his home. He did not worry about the letter not finding its way to the addressee. Madame Giry has never failed him.

* * *

Christine de Chagny stood beside the open window of the grand Chagny mansion in a French province, looking out on the early spring countryside, illuminated by the warm sunlight.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye... _" she sang under her breath, idly fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, brooding on past times.

She couldn't forget the Phantom. Almost every day of those five years, she wondered how would it be if she stayed and lived with him, and had she made the right choice. But whenever she saw Raoul's - her husband's - kind, loving face, she scorned herself for thinking about these things, because Raoul's love was so deep, so understanding and gentle, and she couldn't bare to leave and hurt him.

"_Remember me, once in a while; please, promise me you'll try... _"

She couldn't help reflecting on why the Phantom had let them go on that fateful night five years ago. Had he loved her too much to see her suffer, to make her love him? If that, why did he then torment her in the first place? Was he still alive? She heard that the Opera Populaire had been rebuilt, but she and Raoul haven't visited it yet. Raoul was frightened of the unwanted memories that would surface if they came back there once again. He was frightened of his own memories, for Christine had never considered the Phantom a memory: every detail of him was still as vivid as if she had left him only yesterday. She wanted, in fact, to go back to Paris and see the Opera Populaire once again. Meg and her were still in contact by letters: they were, after all, best friends - but she hadn't seen Meg in over three years, and her last letter came a month ago. She hadn't received any word from her ever since.

There was a knock at the door, and a small boy entered, carrying something in his hand, concealing it from her. Christine looked at him and smiled fondly. Christine and Raoul's son had inherited his blue eyes from his father, and his brown curly hair from his mother.

"What have you got there, Erik?" she asked him.

"Mama, you got a letter," the child said, handing her what he was carrying: it was an envelope marked with the wax seal of the Opera Populaire, addressed to "c/o Christine de Chagny".

"Thank you, darling," she said to the boy and kissed him on the tiny forehead. "Now run along and play."

"Yes, Mama." The boy hugged Christine and left the room.

Christine de Chagny sat in an armchair and broke the seal. She pulled out a short note, written in a familiar handwriting, although she couldn't identify the person who wrote it, and read:

_"Dear Madame de Chagny,_

_I am pleased to invite you to Opera Populaire's opening night of the new season. The opera which will be played is Gluck's "Orpheus and Euridice", a genius libretto I will be conducting. Your friend, Meg Giry, will be singing the lead role. You would make me an unparalleled delight if you would come, along with your husband the Vicomte, of course. I am happy to inform you that your tickets have been paid for so you need not worry about the price. It would do me a great honour, Madame, if you were to attend on the performance._

_Fondest greetings,_

_Luc Reyer." _

Out fell two tickets to the Opera. Christine carefully folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. Luc Reyer... the name sounded familiar... yes, he was the new conductor, wasn't he? He replaced old Monsieur Reyer who had conducted in the days she was still singing in the Opera. Meg wrote to her about him, and according to her words, the new conductor was a kind man, very skilled in his work. But she couldn't help thinking about the handwriting... there was something strangely familiar about it, although she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took out the letter again and reread it, but still couldn't remember where she had seen the handwriting before. She shrug away her suspicions, remembering how Raoul told her not to worry her mind on trivialities.

Just then, the curtains fluttered in the wind, the sky darkened, and she heard someone calling her name.

"Christine, Christine," the voice said, and then, in a sensual whisper, seemingly just beside her ear, whispered in song: "Christine... " She shivered, remembering how he used to call her name in her dreams... And the windows rattled from the wind before the storm. The door sprang open and Christine gasped.

"Raoul!" Her husband, the one who opened the door, crossed the room and closed the window. He laughed.

"Of course it's me, Christine," he said, his eyes smiling. "Who did you think it would be?"

"I..." she started, and then said: "No-one." Raoul took her in his arms and kissed her.

"Erik told me that we've got a letter," he said.

"Oh, yes," Christine said and showed him Reyer's letter. Raoul read it, and she saw that he was worried.

"You don't want to go," she said.

"Christine, you have to understand me," Raoul said. "I don't want you to suffer again. I don't want anyone to hurt you. Christine, I love you..."

"I know, Raoul," she said and kissed him. "But it has been five years. He won't come back. Don't worry. Please, please, let's go to the opera. It has been so long... I want to see Meg again."

"Very well," Raoul sighed. "If it makes you happy, little Lotte, we will go."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Right... I know Raoul looks dreadful in here, but I just ... hate hate hate hate him. Please don't hold it against me...! Though, seriously, how many of us "phans" (aka Phantom fans) actually wanted Christine to wind up with Raoul in the end? I know the book is completely different from the movie in this part - it makes the Phantom look like a twisted and evil sadist and brain-washes you to actually take Raoul's side - however, since my phangirlism line went like this: heard the soundtrack - saw the movie - read the book, I believe you'll understand me when I say that it's WRONG from Christine to be with Raoul. Will I change this in my story? Hehehe... patience, friends, patience. Although, as my friend put it, it would be really morbid if she stayed with the Phantom. And yes, I will continue calling Erik "the Phantom", because the name Erik just doesn't suit his character. Ooops... have I blurted out? Because we have another Erik here... have you spotted him? Pardon me while I grin evilly. Bwahahaha! ;) 


	5. Your Darkest Dream

**Author's Note: This chapter contains some hinted (um... "hinted" may be an understatement) erotica, so those who have anything against it better skip this chapter. It's not really relevant to the plot, but reading it will help you understand some things which will happen afterwards. But this chapter is really fun:) So I suggest you read it, even though the pairing may not be according to taste of some phans. Please don't skip to the end!**

* * *

It was the evening of the final rehearsal of "Orpheus and Euridice" - the Opera had postponed the opening night for a week, which caused much public squabble and opposition in the press, but the crowds who were the regular audience in the Opera eagerly awaited the opening night: it was rumoured that La Carlotta was to be replaced, but no-one, apart from the ensemble, knew who she was going to be replaced with. Some daydreamers told to anyone who would listen that the genius Christine Daaé would return for her swan song, and others just pursed their lips at this: most of the public knew that the young Vicomte guarded his new wife like the apple of his eye and would never let her do that.

Meg Giry unfastened her tight ballet slippers from her feet and wriggled her toes, eager to get out of the rigid prison that the shoes provided. After a strenuous five hours, the dress rehearsal was finally over. Luc made the ensemble and the orchestra work without stopping, because he wanted the opening night to be perfect. Although Meg admired his persistence and vigour, she could have well used a rest somewhere between rehearsing. Perhaps it was the dramatic exit of La Carlotta which motivated Luc to be so demanding of them: Carlotta shrieked so loud when he told her who was going to replace her that half of Paris must have heard her, Meg thought. The Italian leading lady's words still echoed in her mind: _"A chorus girl to replace me! One little dancing girl shakes 'er skirt at you and you cast her as a diva? Non, non voglio udire, Signor! Say bye-bye to your prima donna: I will not return!"_ Meg didn't like to consider the possibility of replacing Carlotta forever: she was first and foremost a ballerina, a chorus girl, and since she didn't have high ambitions, she didn't ask for more. It was true that she couldn't dance forever, but she wanted to make most of the time she had left. When her feet fail her, her voice will remain: but she only wanted to sing as a second option. Of course, she always admired Christine's beautiful voice, and even sometimes fantasised how would it be if she were to sing like that. But she never gave herself more credit than necessary: at least, until the Phantom's note came.

Now, Meg wasn't an arrogant girl, but when you get the note from, in her mind, the most genius living composer in all France, possibly the world, you're bound to get just a little bit conceited. The fact that the genius composer was also a murderer was another thing, and Meg often worried what would have happened if she had entered Christine's old dressing room on that night, what would the Phantom have done with her... She remembered how, five years ago, she was the first to step in his lair; she remembered holding his mask in her hand, still warm from the face which wore it, wondering what became of him... and now she knew. He was back to haunt the opera house, and he would not stop until Christine was with him.

The ensemble and the orchestra had all left some twenty minutes ago, and Meg had fallen behind because she needed to iron her dress for the performance tomorrow night. Only a couple of candles illuminated her dressing room, but she wasn't afraid of the dark. She virtually spent all her life in the Opera Populaire, and she learned that little things like darkness could do her no harm. The shadows beyond the candle flame weren't threatening to her: when your life spun around the theatre, and each night you had to skulk through various unlit passages behind the stage, they became old friends.

She finished ironing her dress and hung it on a peg on the wall, so it will be ready for her tomorrow night. Meg then took a candle-stick from the table and left the dressing room, locking it behind her. She pocketed the key in her dress and went towards the ballet dormitories, where she was sleeping. The sound of her shoes, which would have clicked on parquet, was smothered by the thick, dusty carpet.

Meg walked through the deserted corridors of the opera house, passing many closed doors to dressing rooms, and tall shadows of props which loomed above her tiny form. She climbed several staircases and reached the hallway which lead to the boxes from one to ten. All the doors to the boxes were locked, but still something out of the ordinary caught her eye. The door to Box Five was open: just for an inch or two, but enough for her to see it. She approached the door, put her hand around the handle, and pulled it open.

Meg stepped into the darkness of the box. The darkness from the huge, empty space that was the stalls swept over her and, for a moment, completely wiped out all her senses. She blinked as her vision slowly returned. The stalls underneath her were empty: monstrous props for the first act of tomorrow's "Orpheus" stood on the stage, placed on their exact spots. Chairs specked the orchestra pit, and the harp was the only instrument left there, its golden patina shining oddly in the dark.

Meg looked round the box. It was empty. But who could have opened it? The only people who held the keys to these boxes were Luc and her mother: Luc would have left long ago, and her mother was undoubtedly waiting for her in the dormitories - she wouldn't leave the door open. Particularly not in Box Five, Meg thought.

"_Meg..._ " She heard someone calling her name and spun around. It seemed to be coming from somewhere in the stalls. "_Meg..._ " Yet when it spoke again, it echoed all through the enormous space, and seemed to be coming from everywhere around her. Suddenly, a wind, from nowhere in particular, blew and ruffled her dress, putting out the candle she was holding, leaving her in unending darkness. She heard a bang and ran for the door. Her hands grabbed the handle and pushed. The door didn't budge - she was locked. She didn't have any mean of escape. It was a long way down to the stalls, and even in broad daylight it was debatable if she could climb her way down, let alone in pitch-black darkness.

Meg tried her luck with the door again, but to no avail. She pushed and pulled at the handle, threw herself against the door, but nothing helped. She was loosing hope, and saw that she had to spend the night here, or at least stay here until someone walked by... But no-one was going to pass, and certainly nobody will go checking all the boxes for foolish chorus girls who stick their noses into things which don't concern them, she thought bitterly. She tried to open the door again - fruitlessly - and pounded it with her fist, letting out a small yell of rage. She stared at the door, frustrated, letting her hands fall limply at her sides.

Then she heard it again. The sound which she thought was just an echo or a sigh of the empty opera house around her. She heard it just behind her, a whisper, and warm breath splashed the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine - of fear, or perhaps something else, she didn't know. She hoped it was fear, because she didn't want to think about the something else.

"_Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation,_ " the voice sang. Almost each syllable of the Phantom's voice shivered with the pure exhilaration of his song. "_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination..._ " His hands traced her shoulders and her hands, leaving them warm, although he never made contact with her body, and slowly went to her hips. "_Silently the senses abandon their defences... _" Meg felt a strange intoxication cloud her judgment, and her body shuddered along with his voice, with his caresses. "_Helpless to resist the notes I write..._ " The Phantom's gloved hands met just below her belly and he pulled her close to him. Meg felt her small body slam against his strong frame. "_For I compose--_ " She felt him learn over her right shoulder, so they were now cheek to cheek: his was incredibly warm, and Meg felt his hands move to gently turn her to face him. "_--the music of the night... _" The Phantom's hands were around her hips once again, and Meg looked into his eyes. She remembered what Christine had once said to her: In his eyes, all the sadness of the world. She felt sorry for this lone creature of darkness, forced to spent his youth hiding in the basements of the opera house. His green eyes shone from under the ivory white mask, and Meg felt drawn to them. And then, like thinking her thoughts, the Phantom leaned in and kissed her.

It was unlike any kiss Meg had ever experienced. It wasn't the way she used to kiss, with just placing her mouth against someone else's - it was... the Phantom forced her to open her mouth and pushed his tongue inside it. She shivered as his tongue massaged her own, pulling away every moment or so to let her have breathing room, ever so cautious. Meg moaned in protest, and leaned against him, kissing him back. Her senses exploded. Their kissing became more vigorous: the Phantom started biting on her lip, and when she groaned with pleasure, he lowered his head and kissed her cold neck. Meg opened her mouth and sighed as his tongue probed her skin. She dug her fingernails into his back and pulled him close, begging him to continue. Her breathing was heavy as the Phantom returned to kiss her face, once again inserting his tongue inside her mouth.

Just then, two faces swam to Meg's mind and the hypnotic quality of the Phantom's touch subsided. She saw her mother's face in the night of the chandelier crash, sad and terrified by what the Phantom had done to the Opera. Then she saw Luc's face, just as she had seen it a few nights back. His face was pale, with smoky black rings under his eyes, giving her a weary, but kind smile, his blue eyes lighting up when he recognised her. Something broke in her heart. This man, this Phantom had caused so much suffering to the people dear to her, to poor Christine, her mother, Raoul and Luc, and this was her attitude? She was kissing him like a common whore! He killed two men five years ago, and she could so easily fall to his charms, like nothing ever happened. She felt sickened by herself.

Meg backed away from the Phantom until she could back away no more, and her back hit the railing of the box. There was nothing behind her but the vast, empty space which separated her from the stalls below. Meg shuddered. What was she thinking ? How could she be so stupid? She shouldn't have wandered to here in the first place! How was she going to escape now? The Phantom was standing there, blocking her only exit from the box - which was also locked - and she somehow doubted that he would step away just because she asked him to.

Meg held her breath, staring into those cold eyes behind the mask, calculating her means of escape, but nothing productive came to her mind. She thought that the Phantom would do something - advance on her, attack her, or God knows what else - but he remained there, just standing, blocking her exit with his body. She thought he had said something, whispered something that may or may not have been her name; and she saw his black cloak rustle as he took a step towards her. She backed away as far as she could without actually toppling over the railing and falling down into the stalls.

_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!_ Her mother's harsh warning echoed in her mind. Meg quickly raised her hand to her eyes, her fist clenched, as the Phantom whipped something - probably his lasso - from his cloak. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Meg!" she heard someone calling her as the Phantom advanced upon her and his dark shadow loomed over her. It sounded like her mother, but her mother couldn't be here, not now: she was probably in her room, sleeping. It was just a figment of her imagination, Meg thought and waited for the rope to clinch around her neck. But instead, someone called her name again.

"MEG!" Meg opened her eyes, astonished. The box was empty. The Phantom had fled. She turned around to face the stalls, her breathing heavy with fear, and saw Madame Giry, her mother, standing in the aisle. She was leaning on her walking stick and carrying a petroleum lamp in her hand. The lamp illuminated Madame's usual heavy black attire and her light red hair put in a tight bun.

"What are you doing up there?" Her mother asked sternly. Meg tried to say something, but couldn't find the words: she felt as if there was a great lump in her throat which she couldn't get rid of. "Get down! I've been looking all over for you! What were you thinking, running around the opera in the middle of the night?" Meg rushed to the door, and found it unlocked. She pushed the handle and emerged in the well-lit corridor.

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**Author's Note:** Eeek! I'm sorry if I disappointed you with the Phantom/Meg scene. I think - I _think_ - it won't happen again. Nobody knows where this story may take me, ;) But seriously, I know that Christine and the Phantom should be together, but I couldn't resist... now you see why this is M-rated. But don't worry: I'm not going to include sex or anything like that! I know that I don't quite follow all the stuff given in the film... but, frankly, I don't care! In the next chapter, Christine will come back to the Opera for the opening night. Promise:) _Please review!_ Tell me what you like and don't like about the plot, the characters, the dialogue and the story in general!  
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__All your reviews are read and highly appreciated! _


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